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September 18, 2023 / barton smock

birthplace,

birthplace 61

You’ve a painter’s blood and a barber’s hand-frightened hand.

An ice-cream truck 

full of crows
that burn
god.

A yard of one-use bathtubs.

My insides are as white as the ghost that’s seen them.
The drugs
don’t work

they make
you look

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